Disneyman
by Emiggax
Summary: A collection of stories based on animated Disney movies. First, the Beauty and the Beast: "It wasn't like Tyki asked to be cursed, but the crazy bit--well, witch was dripping her ugly on his doorstep."


HI! It's us again, the DGM combo-breaking duo, Kaza and Emiggax.

What do we have in store for you guys this time??? TOTAL MOLESTATION OF YOUR CHILDHOOD! :D After watching a few Disney movies (or MGM, can't remember), we started a few "What if…" situations with DGM characters. And then we got serious. So, I told myself that I'd start one chapter of this after chapter 15 of AWYWI, and I try to at least keep promises to myself. And I kept it, because I _started_ it after chap. 15 of AWYWI. I just didn't _finish_ it until after chap. 22, because I got the sudden motivation (if you catch my drift).

THERE WILL BE, like, OODLES OF PAIRINGS. No, seriously, there will be a lot. It varies on what Disney movie we're inappropriately touching. Speaking of the Disney movies, some of the fics will be short and just a favorite scene from a certain movie, while others, like this first one, cover the entirety (but not the same exact order of affairs) of the movie.

There will be no sudden outbreaks of song, for these are fanfics, not _musicals_.

Enjoy.

* * *

Pairing: Tyki/Allen, Sherman/Allen (for the lulz)  
Movie: The Beauty and the Beast (1991)  
Rating: lol wut

**The Deformed and the Disturbed **  
**(Part One)**

"Hello Tyki."

"Hello…" a Portuguese man looked at the woman at his doorstep speculatively. Who the hell _was_ this hideous insult to the female sex? Tyki Mikk smiled as charmingly as humanly possible. "…Um. Medusa?"

The woman graced him—or so she thought, because it felt like a curse to Tyki—with a look that stated he couldn't be more wrong if there were an **X** on his head. "Actually, it's me. Lulu Bell."

"Lulu Bell?" Wow. She really let herself _go_. "Oh." Tyki coughed into his fist, looking around nervously. He could feel the useless servants behind him, chattering mindlessly their misguided perceptions of _who could be at the door?_ He's been meaning to fire Lavi for, like, _ever_. "Well, I heard from the Earl that you went off to Salem, Massachusetts in America to train for witchdom."

"Ah." Lulu nodded. "I did."

"Well, did it work?"

"To a degree, yes." She shrugged her shoulders slightly. "I've learned to do curses, at the very least."

"Ah." So, what, was her face a side-effect of her abilities? "Um. I see."

Lulu eyed him. "Are you going to let me in, cousin?"

What? Oh _no_. Call him narcissistic—with good reason, of course—but he refused to be even _distantly_ related to the ugly that is Lulu at the moment.

"I'm sorry Lulu," Tyki apologized half-heartedly and with a jaunty hand wave of dismissal. "I'm afraid I can't let you in. After all, God hates ugly."

Lulu looked at him for a long, hard moment, her gray face schooled into a professional expression of nonchalance. "God hates ugly?" she repeated slowly, cocking an eyebrow at just about the same speed. "Are you sure you want to say something like that to me? _Me_?"

"As apologetic as I am, yes." Tyki ran his tanned fingers through his long, wavy hair. "After all, there are two people currently at this door, and believe me when I say that I am _not_ ugly."

"Mm hmm…" the disfigured woman hummed, grabbing the edge of her hood on her ratty cloak. "If that is the case—" She pushed back the hood suddenly, her skin visibly transforming into a beautiful pale white and her blonde hair falling down to her back. She looked at her cousin with an expression of accurate disdain. "—then now we can see who the truly ugly one here is."

Tyki stared at her. "Tsk," he clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth in exasperation. "Now why couldn't you have come to the door looking like _that_?"

"Between the two of us, we are both aesthetically attractive in physical matters," Lulu began, and Tyki suddenly remembered his old uncle and his own impromptu speeches. "But, in the more internal conflict, _you_ are hideous."

"I'm sorry, but _you_ just went from disgusting to _damn_, excuse my French if you may," the Portuguese man said, and then brushed that off because, hey, they already _were_ in France. "Maybe _you_ are hiding the ugly inside yourself."

"…_Anyway_," Lulu continued, shaking her head. "This is a fitting punishment."

"Punishment?" Tyki repeated, actually perplexed. "_Why_? Because I didn't want your ugly to dirty my manor?"

"And as such, it goes like this." She held up a hand that glowed a dull red at the fingertips and gently touched his forehead. "Until your time runs out," she stated resolutely. "You will be in a form that shall be virtually unattractive to all who cross you."

"Wha—" Well, the tearing feeling that suddenly surged through the man was rather painful, and he fell to his knees in agony, sucking in his breath through clenched teeth. He clutched at his clothed biceps with claws that definitely were _not_ there before, and they broke through his rather furry arms. Huh.

"Not only that," There's more? What the _fu_— "But, this curse is now extended to your manor and _all_ of its current attendants."

Oh. Well, that wasn't so bad, since now his suffering was shared with all of the annoying servants _and_ his brother and niece were fortunately spared. They were in town, and he'd have to send them a nice notice of the current predicament, including a very funny story about Lulu Bell, the crazy witch—bitch, he meant, actually—and her curse target practice.

Tyki, as he lay slumped on the floor while the transformation threatened to make him pass out, drearily looked up at his cousin. "D-damn you," he cursed.

Lulu smiled at him tightly. "And, one last thing," she said. Twirling a finger around, a glass case materialized in her slender hand. "You can break the curse."

"H-how?" It hurt to even talk, and he was totally offended at how she took the time out of her sweet, darling life to make sure his originally suave and deep voice was now scratchy and doggish.

"Before the pedals of the rose," She pointed at the red, red rose within the case. "All fall, you must find love in someone who is _just_ as cursed as you are. If not…then I don't think I need to explain how you and your beloved servants will be stuck in this…unseemly situation. Forever."

He really didn't love his servants. "A-a-ah—" Tyki let out a silent howl of pain as his legs elongated and his skin rippled before sprouting damned _fur_. Dear Lord, _why him_? "M-my mansion…"

"Will be cursed as well," Lulu assured with a small quirk of her lips. "Do not worry. Does this severely cut your chances of breaking the curse in halves? Yes. But, for the better." She nodded her head. "Goodbye, Tyki Mikk."

"G-g-goodbye," he hissed, his eyes closed tightly as he tried to ride out the pain. "H-hope Hell is good for y-you."

"Not as much as an eternity of loneliness will be for you."

Tyki's vision was blurring, he noticed as the woman walked away from him. There was water forming in his eyes, and he couldn't feel his breath coursing through his lungs as he silently moved his lips.

He was dying.

Or, maybe he was just crying.

For, who could truly love a cursed beast?

----+

**Four Years Later**

----+

This town was quite possibly _the_ most boring town Allen Walker had ever had the pleasure of living in.

It didn't help that every single day was usually disturbingly alike to the one before.

"_Bonjour_!" a passerby townsman greeted to the nineteen-year-old, which he waved back.

And, once _one_ person starts the cycle, it usually takes a while for it to end. "_Bonjour!_" a woman cried from her top window.

"_Bonjour_!"

Did these people seriously have _nothing_ better to do?

"Good morning, Allen!" Oh, it was the funny baker who Allen saw do the same thing _every morning_ since he came to live in this provincial town with his uncle.

The young man smiled. "Good morning to you as well, Toma," he replied.

Toma grinned, waving a loaf of bread in his direction. "You're looking well today," he said. "What's going on?"

"I'm headed to the bookstore," Allen answered with a quirk of his lips. "I just finished this _fantastique_ novel, where a boy's father dies and he is forced to become a priest—"

"So interesting!" Toma turned into the window. "Andrew! Don't _eat_ the baguettes!"

The white-haired boy sighed, walking away. It was really a great book, too.

"There he goes," a woman in her group of friends whispered loudly. "That boy is strange, no doubt about it. There's always a smile on his face!"

"Never part of any crowd," another member of the group added.

"And his hair's as white as clouds," one more interjected. "He truly is an oddball boy, Allen."

He looked at them, his expression stating clearly _I can hear you_.

They only had one word in response. "_Bonjour!_"

Sometimes, he just felt like saying _Hello_ in English or speaking in German just to irk these people.

"Oh, it's time," he stated suddenly, holding his arm out as a horse trotted by. With that, he caught an impromptu ride on the back of a moving wagon, and Allen smiled as the conversation stopped pointing so much towards _him_ and moreover everyone else's provincial lives.

"_Bonjour_," a woman greeted another. "How is your family?"

"_Bonjour_," another man stated. "How is your wife?"

And then, Allen tuned out the inane conversation because it was boring and he had finally reached his stop.

"Thanks for the ride!" he called after the wagon's owner, receiving a hearty "_Bonjour_!" in response. Shaking his head in amusement, the white-haired young man walked into the bookstore with a bright smile.

Johnny looked up at him. "Oh, it's Allen again," he said with a grin. "You already finished?"

"Days ago." Allen looked around. "Did any new books come in?"

"Well, not recently—" Johnny ducked as the teenager climbed the ladder to the side of him, putting the book that was once underneath his arm back into place.

"Such a shame," Allen muttered, running a wrinkled, red finger down the spine of another novel. "Then, I'll just borrow…this one!"

"While you're reading all those books," the more-than-amused bookkeeper said to Allen, who stared at him so he'd finish his sentence. "Maybe you should consider writing your own."

"Where is the fun in that, _monsieur_?" Allen replied with a quirky smile. "If I did that, I'd know the ending, and there's not too much excitement in such."

The bookkeeper cocked an eyebrow. "Well, you've read _that_ book at least nine times—"

"And it simply never gets old."

"I know, I know." Johnny laughed delightedly, his eyes squinting behind his large round glasses. "Go on, take the book. Keep it, have fun."

This was a _fantastique_ day. No argument. "Thank you so much!" The young man waved jauntily with a smile and walked out the wooden door. He squinted at the sudden influx of light, and looked down towards the busy dirt road of this small, French village.

Luckily for him, with much sarcasm, the conversations had swerved towards him again.

"—that boy is so peculiar," a man muttered, shouldering a bush of hay. "Is he feeling well?"

"He's got that dreamy far off look," a woman next to him said. "And he's always reading a book! Such a puzzle to the rest of us."

He did _not_ have a dreamy far off look. Allen sniffed in offense, walking faster. He reached the fountain, which sparkled ethereally due to the reflection of the blue sky. There were sheep idly loitering about the spout, and the boy grinned.

He loved talking to animals. At least _they_ listened, to a degree.

Sitting on the fountain next to a lazy lamb, he flipped to his favorite page. "This is my _favorite_ part," he explained to the animal, of which the lamb responded by chewing at a corner of the page. "It's where the girl discovers her father, but she won't know it's him until the end!"

A young man sighed. "It's no wonder that his name means '_handsome_' in English," he said with a bit of envy, touching his own face. "His looks, they've got no parallel."

"Yet behind that fair _façade_, you should know he's rather off," his mother scolded, lightly smacking him atop the head. "He's very different from the rest of us."

Allen rolled his eyes, standing up and petting the attentive lamb on its wooly head. He walked off, his shoes becoming dirtier by the second due to the bloody dirt road he had to travel on to get back home.

He looked up at the sky, and smiled at the organized formation of ducks that flew by.

Then, a shot went off, and that whole moment was ruined.

Allen groaned, rolling his eyes and narrowly dodging a wall that was deadset on hitting him. He looked down at the book in his pants, roaming his eyes over the languid flow of words on the page.

As he walked, he slipped into the traffic of the busy town, walking around people and ducking when necessary. Although, there was a nagging feeling within him that made him feel like someone was trying to find him at the moment.

He looked behind himself; everyone went along their merry lives like they weren't talking so animatedly about him before.

"Allen," the book was gently plucked from his hands, and the nineteen-year-old was indignant as he looked forward to find the perpetrator.

And, oh, it was _Sherman bloody Camelot_. And his daughter, of sorts.

"Interesting," Sherman murmured, running a long finger down the expanse of a random page. "Reading, an admirable hobby."

"I agree," Allen, quite obviously, agreed. He shuffled his already dirty shoes on the dirty ground, and when he looked up into the noble's golden eyes, he tried to rub the dirty feeling away from his body. "Uhm. Good day?"

"Very much so."

Idle conversation only worked in certain situations.

This was not one of them.

"_Daddy_," _Rhode bloody Camelot_ whined, swinging her father's intertwined hand. "Can't we just invite him for dinner and get this over with? It's such a _bore_!"

"Love," Sherman replied with a smile packed full of so much love it bordered on not even being _fatherly_. "You _know_ we can't do that. Not while the beautiful Mister Walker himself continues to refuse my hand in courting."

Allen sighed. "You should write a book," he muttered in annoyance. "Because it's _this_ same story again."

"Same story? I offer something new every time."

"Which amuses me, especially considering how I truly could care less." He took his book back, with some sort of dignity, and pivoted on his heel.

"Really?" Sherman smirked. "But, today I'm offering to clear your dear uncle of all debts."

This stopped the young man in his tracks.

Sherman was offering to do…_that_? _That_, which Allen desired more than he desired life itself, and he was offering it for his permission to court?

That didn't sound half bad. "I'll, uh, I'll get back to you," Allen replied, smiling nervously back at the man. "On, erm, _that_." Then again, it sounded like prostitution, which was really not high in his books. "I really must go and help my uncle."

"Your uncle?" Rhode barked a laugh. "That crazy old creep surely needs all the help he can get!" Her father—of sorts—chuckled lightly at that.

Allen glared. "Don't talk about my uncle that way!" Only _he_ could talk about his uncle that way!

"Of course." The French nobleman curtsied, still holding Rhode's hand. He looked down at her. "Hire someone to catch a deer…we'll need it," he whispered.

Rhode huffed. "You're so going to regret this, Allen!"

There was an explosion in the background, which made the laughter from the two Camelots return, and Allen turned around with an annoyed sigh, running into his home.

The man was bent over on the ground, rubbing his tender head. "Ah, _damn _it."

"Are you okay, uncle?"

Cross Marian was sure his nephew was a complete moron.

And, somehow, moving from England to _France_ hasn't helped ease that fact at all.

"This isn't working the way I want it to," he replied slowly, as though the boy were stupid. Wait, the boy _is_ stupid, so it's okay. "Hand me that doglegged clencher," he instructed, getting on his knees.

"Of course," The boy passed him the tool, and he huffed.

"If this works, then I'm going to win first place at the fair tomorrow."

Allen cocked an eyebrow in disbelief. "You're going _where_?" he asked.

"I'm going to the _fair_," he repeated once more to the idiot, rolling his eyes as the boy still refused to use that damn brain of his.

"You're doing _what_?"

"I'm going to the fair. The _fair_." Cross rolled his eyes. "You're not coming, boy."

"I didn't _want_ to come." Allen replied, crossing his arms in the smart way that had the red-haired man smacking his across the top of his head.

The redhead narrowed his eyes behind his spectacles. "I'm leaving," he stated resolutely, coming up from underneath the damned machine. "And when I come back, you better be alive. Those debts aren't going to pay themselves."

"They could've, but then I would be a prostitute," Allen muttered. Cross had no idea what he was talking about, but just assumed it was part of the fact that the boy had no brain. His nephew looked up at him balefully. "Uncle, do you think I'm odd?"

What a silly question. "Yes, but I actually don't _care_," he said, pulling the lever to the contraption.

With a whir of life, the machine started with a jump, and the axe went on chopping the wood placed in the hold.

"Bloody hell," Allen breathed in shock. "It works."

"Does it?" Cross looked down at the chopped wood. "Huh. I guess it does."

"You really did it!"

"Damn." The redhead smirked. "Boy, hitch up Timcanpy. I'm off to the fair."

"I can't believe it works!" The axe chopped a portion of wood a little too hard, and the log smacked the boy in the face.

It was a better invention than he thought. "That's right, boy," Cross said, standing up and groaning. "Stay alive."

**----+**

"Goodbye uncle," Allen said spitefully, waving Cross off as he lifted himself onto his prized horse, Timcanpy. The redhead placed his black traveling hat atop his head. "Hope _you're_ the one to stay alive."

"Hmm," Cross hummed in response, and he smacked the reins to instruct Timcanpy to start going.

With a gallop, the golden horse took off, the hitched cart creaking loudly.

He rode through the opening of the forest, bespectacled eyes watching the forward trail lazily.

The sun had begun to lower by the time he realized that he _might've_ been lost.

"Damn that nephew," Cross snapped, bringing the horse to a slow stop. "Too much contact with the stupid that is him has caused me to forget how to go places." Lighting up the lantern next to his leg on the saddle of the horse, he held it up. "Anaheim and Valencia? Better than nothing." He gripped the reins again. "Let's go, Tim."

Timcanpy looked at the trail Cross was trying to make him go through, a dark desolate road overgrown with freak-of-nature plants. He liked his plan a lot better, which was 'Go through the path laden with sunshine and green grass.'

"Where the hell are you trying to go?" the redhead muttered, and tugged the reins roughly. "This is a shortcut, Tim."

Timcanpy clearly didn't agree, but went along with it anyway.

The path somehow got even _darker_ and more _sinister_ than before in the moment they stepped through the gap of trees.

A swarm of bats flew out somewhere to Cross's right, and while he was generally unbothered, he realized that Timcanpy had been hanging around Allen too much, because the damned horse went off like a girl with a bug in her vision.

"_Nnngn!_" Timcanpy neighed, rearing up. The redhead suddenly came to the conclusion that this was a problem.

"Calm down!" he hissed, gripping the reins. "Let's turn back, since you're so scared!"

"_Nnngn!_" the horse cried, taking off in a race-like gallop down the trail, jumping over roots and narrowly dodging misplaced trees. The redhead ducked so that a lowered branch wouldn't decapitate him, and _damn_ did he see an even bigger problem.

Timcanpy stopped shakily just before he jumped off the cliff, Cross breathing a little heavier than usual.

The inventor coughed lowly in his throat. "Tim—"

The horse reared up again, and Cross found it difficult to hold on as he fell off the horse's back. He hit the hard ground with an audible grunt, and he saw the horse running off in the other direction.

He lifted himself up shakily. "Stupid horse," he grumbled. "Stupid _nephew_. This is all his fault, I'm sure of it."

There was a low growling sound behind him, and Cross turned around very slowly.

Those mutts did _not_ look friendly.

"Fuck."

The man stood up, stumbling a bit, and ran off towards the main trail. The wolves were not far behind him, and they nipped at his heels as he ran.

"Goddammit," he cursed in annoyance, and then he slipped. "Goddammit _again_." He rolled down a rough slope, the wolves pausing for dramatic interlude (or so Cross assumed). Hitting a metal barrier, he glared up at the damned dogs, and they suddenly decided that it was okay to give chase again.

Cross groaned, and used the gate to pull himself back up. "Let me in!" he shouted, banging on the metal bars. "There are _wolves_ after me and I'd be the biggest damned hypocrite in the world if I died before my nephew!"

The gate creaked up somewhere between _hypocrite_ and _nephew_, and he slipped inside—with his hat falling off his head for some reason he blamed the Lord and his nephew for—before slamming the metal bars closed in the wolves path, his hat getting caught between them in the process.

One yelped.

Cross smirked.

The rain began to fall, and the red-haired man was suddenly more annoyance at life than ever, because he'd be damned if he were going to go back and retrieve that stupid hat. Besides, the mansion ahead looked rather welcoming, in a dead, haunted kind of way.

With that, the inventor slogged through the muddy, long-winded path towards the mansion, and he was very unhappy all the way there.

Once he reached the large, imposing door, he decided that his nephew was definitely going to suffer when he got back home.

He knocked on the door. _If_ he got back home, that is.

The door creaked open with more noise than necessary. "Hello?" Cross called, an eyebrow cocked. He walked into the dark mansion, the door shutting itself behind him. "_Hello_?"

Ugh, he couldn't see a thing. The man removed his glasses, narrowing his eyes at the way the lenses were terribly smudged. Sighing, he pocketed the spectacles and looked around the large room.

He would assume nobody lived here, but to the side, he heard barely whispering voices.

"…old man must've gotten lost in the woods," one voice muttered, obviously annoyed.

"_Oui, oui_," the other agreed. "The poor man. Maybe he'll go away?"

"Hey," Cross called out, looking in the direction. "Is anyone there?"

There was the sound of shuffling, and then a hushed "Shut up, Lavi. Shut _up_."

Who the hell was _Lavi_? "…_Anyway_," the redhead continued, getting exasperated. "I'm _sorry_, but I need somewhere to stay for the night, and my horse has abandoned me."

"Oh, Yuu, have a heart!"

"Shut _up_ you stupid—ow! Ow! What the—_ow_!"

"Of course you are welcome here, monsieur." A voice—one that didn't sound very French at all—said.

Cross was sadly confused. "Who's talking?" he asked, grabbing the nearest candle.

Something tapped his shoulder. "I'm right here, _monsieur_."

The redhead looked towards the candle.

The candle _smiled_ at him.

"Goddammit." Cross threw the candle on the ground, and prepared to stomp on his with his muddy boots.

"Hold _up_," the other voice snapped, and the man looked over to see an ebony clock hopping towards him. "Just, what the hell do you think you're doing Lavi? Trying to get us _screwed over_? Because that's what it looks like!"

Cross picked up the angry clock, staring at it. "Am I drunk?" he wondered aloud, winding the spring on the back of the clock's head. "I think I'm drunk."

"Whoa—put me _down_!" the clock snapped, wriggling in his hold. The man opened the front of the clock and poked at the pendulum. "Hey! That's way too impersonal!" It slammed the glass closed. "If you're gonna hold me, then _throw me at the wall_, not molest me you freak!"

"This clock is talking." Cross muttered aloud, staring at it. He looked at the candle. "Did you know the clock talks?"

"_Oui_," the candle replied with a wide smile. "It does that often."

"Huh." Then, the inventor sneezed, and suddenly he realized how cold it actually was. "God_dammit_." That was quickly becoming his favorite saying.

"Tsk, tsk," the candle sighed, waving its fire-touched arms in thought. "Let us go to the fire, _monsieur_, you must be freezing."

"Uh, yeah," Cross held the clock close to him, ignoring the outraged cries of the contraption. He walked into the den, feeling someone's eyes on him the entire time.

The den was brightly lit by the large fire in the fireplace, and there was one especially large chair in front of this fire. Cross went ahead and sat in it, throwing the clock on the ground ungracefully.

The clock was offended. "Get the hell out that seat, old man!" it snapped, shaking an arm threateningly. "You want to die?!"

The black footstool scurried around it, _barking_. "What the—_you_ want to wake up the master too?!"

A metal cart hopped into the den, rolling towards the red-haired man. The teapot on top of it grinned. "Want some tea? It'll warm you up in _no_ time!"

"Uh, sure."

The teapot tipped over and poured the steaming liquid into the teacup next to it, which hopped into Cross's hands.

The teacup looked up at the man in awe. "He's so…_good looking_," it breathed.

Cross brought it to his lips, and the teapot squawked. "I didn't tell you to drink _from_ her!" it snapped, blowing out a puff of steam. "You were supposed to _not_ touch her porcelain body with your…_lips_, you dirty man! Put my darling Lenalee down!"

"Komui!" this _Lenalee_ snapped back, annoyed. "Go away!"

But before Komui could retort, the door to the den slammed open with a gust of wind—that seemed rather misplaced in this, well, _mansion_—that blew out the fire in the fireplace and on the candles. This was more than enough to thoroughly make _everything_ scurry back into safety, and Cross wondered what the hell was going on.

With soft steps, a hunched over figure stepped into the room, its golden eyes narrowed.

"I may be wrong," it whispered in a thickly accented growl. "But, there's a stranger in here. No?"

"Master Mikk," the candle started, relighting its flames. "Allow me this moment to explain. This gentleman was wounded and dying and he was bleeding on the door—"

A roar from this figure put out the flames once more. "Be _quiet_, Lavi."

"I _told_ you, stupid candle!" the clock muttered, trying to sneak out. "This is totally _bull_."

A large clawed hand reached over and picked it up, and the golden eyes glared. "Where are you going, Kanda?" it asked calmly.

Cross snorted. "Away from _you_, obviously."

The figure paused, snapping up to look at the man. "Who are you?" it demanded, dropping Kanda and walking on all fours towards him with a grace that _he_ didn't even have. "What exactly are you doing here?"

"Ah," the redhead held his ground as the inhuman face of this _master_ came into his view. The wavy fur, though, was very nice, and the soap had a very attractive smell. "I was lost in the woods—"

"I didn't ask for your life story," this…_Beast_ replied, rolling his eyes. "You are not welcome here."

"I noticed. By the way, did you know your clock talks?"

"Yes. Would you mind telling me what you're looking so intensely at?"

_You_. "Nothing."

"Hmm," a cruel smirk came upon the Beast's face, and a clawed finger came underneath his chin. "So, you came to stare at the Beast? Otherwise known as _myself_?"

"Uh, _no_." Cross held his hands up as though innocent. "I just needed a place to stay for the—"

"Well, why didn't you _say so_?" the Beast grabbed him by the neck, smiling. It threw the man over its shoulder and turned around, stalking through the door.

Cross felt like this was the worst day ever.

**----+**

"Allen is going to get the shock of his _life_, daddy."

Sherman smiled, fixing his extravagant bow. "I know."

Rhode grinned around the large lollipop that was in her mouth. "I'd suggest you not screw up," she said sweetly.

"Oh, I won't, love." He looked at the townspeople who were nice enough to come and see him with his best offer to Allen yet. "Thank you, I suppose. I'm not quite sure why you're here, but enough with that. Rhode, remember what to do."

"Of course!" Rhode huffed.

Sherman walked up to the door, coughing into his fist with a smile. He knocked. "Allen?"

Behind the door, there was a bunch of shuffling, and suddenly an odd device shot down from the shade into his face.

There was a groan, and then the door opened slowly. "Sherman," the ever good-looking Allen Walker greeted with a cocked eyebrow. "What a pleasant…_surprise_."

"I could say the same thing." Sherman smiled, and the teenager visibly looked disturbed at that motion. "I've come here to make your dreams come true."

"If Cross isn't dead, then you know _nothing_ about my dreams," Allen deadpanned, prepared to slam the door. Sherman pushed at the door, keeping it open as he slipped through.

He smirked. "Oh, I know more about your dreams—and secrets—than you really expect," he replied, running his gloved fingers through his long, wavy hair. "Therefore, I'd say that perhaps you should accept my offer of courting."

"Um." Allen picked up his book, flipping through it and marking the page. He placed it on a shelf thick with books. "No, but thank you."

"Did you even think about it?" Sherman asked, placing his hands on his hips.

"Yes. I simply don't deserve you," the young man replied with a smile, reaching for the doorknob.

The older man reached out and grabbed his hand, narrowing his eyes. He leaned down. "Consider my offer," he murmured softly. "It doesn't last forever." He opened the door himself and walked out, nodding at the teenager.

Rhode looked at him as he walked out. "…_Okay_?" she said, cocking an eyebrow. "What'd he say."

Sherman coughed into his fist. "He'd, he'd think about it."

----+

"Hmph!" Allen huffed, walking swiftly while carrying a wooden bucket of animal feed. "I'd rather fall off a cliff than be in a relationship with that egomaniac!" He looked up at the blue sky, his own gray eyes narrowing. "Not me, I guarantee it. I want much more than this provincial _life_."

He unlatched the gate, smiling at the animals that crowded around his legs, and he sighed. "And for once it might be nice," he muttered, stepping over a large hen. "To have someone understand. I have so much more than they've got planned." The teenager looked out towards the open fields wistfully, a smile on his face.

"_Nnngn!_"

"Huh?"

Consider him crazy, but that was definitely Timcanpy galloping at top speed towards him, the wagon still hitched, but no Cross.

He hopped over the gate, running to meet him halfway. "Tim?" he called, holding out his arms as the horse skidded to a stop in front of him, obviously frightened. "Tim! Calm down!" He grabbed the reins, tugging them towards himself so the horse would look into his eyes. "Where's Cross?"

Timcanpy neighed loudly again, bucking. Allen ran his hand down the horse's muzzle, attempting to calm him down. "Is he dead?" Allen asked, but then realized that his assumption was a little _too_ extreme."Wait, is he _gone_?"

This was his dream come true.

Cross was _gone_ and Allen was finally free to follow his dream of going back to England and—

Allen froze. But then again, if Cross is dead or gone, then _Allen_, as his only living relative, will receive everything that Cross had.

Including debts.

"We've got to find him, Tim!" the young man exclaimed suddenly, utterly horrified. He shakily unhitched the cart from the horse, and held a hand to his beating heart. The hell he'd let that man win this way!

Lifting himself atop the horse, Allen held the reins in his hands confidently. "Onward!"

----+

"What _is_ this place?" Allen murmured as Timcanpy shuffled about the entrance of the gate nervously. He gently got down from the horse, eyes wide as he took in the entirety of the rather creepy mansion.

He gingerly touched the gate, which creaked open almost instantly.

"Oh _no_," Allen muttered, catching sight of his uncle's favorite traveling hat. "He's alive." He paused. "Oh, wait, _yay_! He's alive!" He had to stay happy about this situation, or he'd throw a party before fleeing around the world to avoid the debtors.

Pulling Timcanpy along, he walked up the winding trail towards the large, gothic door. He knocked a few times, and it opened as well. Timcanpy neighed, and Allen patted him on the head. "I'll only be gone a moment, I _promise_," he said with a small smile, and he let go of the reins.

He walked inside, rather frightened, and gulped.

There was a quiet whisper of voices somewhere ahead of him, probably up the stairs, and he quieted to listen.

"…couldn't keep your big, unFrench mouth shut, could'ja, Lavi? Had to get us all screwed over, didn't you?"

"_Ach_, I was just trying to be _nice_."

He coughed into his fist. "Hello?" he called out. "Is anyone here? Well, I'm sorry, is my uncle Cross here?"

There was no answer, but the quiet bickering of the two ahead of him continued. Allen rubbed his deformed arm to ease his nervousness, and he ascended the stairs cautiously.

"…retarded racial mutt wax-faced…" someone was snapping angrily as he reached the top, and the British man blinked in the darkness.

"Uncle?"

To the side of his peripheral vision, he noticed a sudden dim flash of candlelight.

The voices got louder. "Did you see that, Yuu?" one asked excitedly. "It was a boy!"

"Uh. _Duh_."

"I may be wrong, as I'm missing an eye or two, but he had a deformed arm and unnatural white hair!" Allen rubbed his said arm at that, annoyed that they were _talking_ about it and his hair so casually. "He just might be the one with the curse to break our master's curse."

"…What." It wasn't even a question. The white-haired teenager had to agree that what he just heard was the _single_ most confusing explanation in his life, and his uncle was _Cross Marian_.

But, enough with that, he actually had to find the damned man, instead of eavesdropping on a rude conversation.

He continued down a narrow hallway that cut off from the main one, and he had this eerie feeling that someone was, well, _watching_ him.

Behind him, a door creaked open, and Allen backtracked to peek through it. "Uncle?" he shouted, grabbing a torch from the wall. The sound of scurrying was heard, and he held out a hand. "Wait, no, seriously! I'm looking for my uncle!" He walked swiftly up the stairs to find whoever was making the noise, passing by several candles. "I was _sure_ there was someone—"

"The hell? _Boy_?"

"Uncle?!" Allen rushed up through the archway into a small, dank room with a cell in the middle. "Uncle, what're you _doing_ here?"

"What the—" Cross looked incredulous. "How the hell did you _find me_?"

"Timcanpy, but that's not the point." The boy bit his bottom lip. "I thought you were dead!"

"Yeah, well, so did I. Ended up I was wrong, so who would've thought?" The redhead looked seriously at him, interlacing his long fingers. "Allen, get out of here."

Allen blinked. "You…you just called me by my real name!"

"Okay? Congratulations. But, seriously, _leave_. You've got to get out _now_."

"I won't leave you!" the young man cried. "They'll come after me, instead!"

Claws latched into his shoulder, turning him around roughly, and he dropped the torch in his hands into a puddle in the small room. The darkness overtook the room, except for a single beam of skylight that shined behind the attacker.

"Might I ask what you are doing here?" whomever it was inquired with a toothy smile.

Cross huffed. "I _told_ you to leave, idiot!"

"Who's there?" Allen demanded, looking around in the inky darkness. "Who are you?"

"The master of this mansion, of course."

Allen clenched his fists. "Well, I've come for my uncle!" he stated, guessing an explanation for his trespassing was better than nothing. "Could you please let him out? He's mentally incapacitated and physically sick, too!"

The master of the mansion chuckled. "Then he should've never walked through those gates," it replied.

"But he could die!" That was a _bad_, _bad_ thing, if it ever happened. "I'll…I'll do anything!"

"There's nothing you _can_ do," the master retorted with a cruel laugh. "He's my prisoner."

Oh God. He would _die_. "There must be something I can—wait!" Later in his life, he'd claim insanity for his next words. "Take me, instead!"

"_You_?" the master demanded, incredulous. "_You_ would take this filth's place?"

"Boy, get out!" Cross snapped. "You don't know what you're doing!"

Allen ignored him. "If I did," he replied jauntily. "Would you let him go?"

"But of course," the master purred. "Yet, you must promise to stay here forever."

Forever? That was a long time.

The white-haired boy was ready to answer _yes_, but he realized that he didn't even know what this _master of the mansion_ looked like. "Step into the light," he demanded cautiously.

"Hmm? Well, as you wish." With quiet drags of its legs, the master of the mansion stepped into the light, propping himself up to his best posture. The master was a _beast_, to the easiest description.

Allen's eyes widened, and he stepped back until his back hit the metal bars of Cross's cage.

"I won't let you throw your life away like this, boy!" the inventor snapped, and the young man regained his composure after a few long breaths.

He walked forward and stepped into the light himself, his expression stubborn. "You have my word," he said to the golden-eyed beast.

The Beast's own golden eyes widened. "Done!"

With that, Allen fell to his knees, holding his wildly thumping heart and trying to breathe.

"Allen!" The Beast had unlocked the cell door, and Cross was surely angry. "What the hell is _wrong_ with you?! I'm, what, old or something! You _aren't_! You haven't lived your life! You haven't even _paid my debts_—" The Beast picked him up roughly, cutting off his brigade effectively.

"Wait!" Allen exclaimed, shakily attempting to stand up. "Uncle!"

"Boy!"

"Goodbye," the Beast said in amusement, and rushed down the stairs.

Allen finally got his legs to listen to him, and he stood up. He stumbled to the small window in the cell and looked down, catching sight of the Beast and his uncle in the low yard.

He attempted to listen to what they were saying.

"…_no longer your concern_…"

That clearly wasn't working out.

The Beast pushed the redhead onto a pallenquin, and it pointed towards the town. With a stumbling push, the pallenquin took off across the yard with it's spider-like legs.

And Allen sat down to cry.

**----+**

Tyki walked up the stairs silently, feeling rather annoyed that his mansion was intruded _twice_ in such a short amount of time.

"Ah, Master Mikk?"

Oh God. It was _Lavi_, his favorite headache. "What?" he replied, his annoyance seeping into his deep growl.

"Since _le_ boy will be staying with us for quite some time," Lavi said, a grin in his voice. "I was thinking that maybe you want to offer him a better room?"

Tyki growled lowly in his throat, his expression of exasperation unchanging.

"Or…maybe not. _Oui, oui_!"

"You aren't French." The Beast waved his hand in dismissal. "Quit acting like it."

"_Oui_!" Lavi saluted, the fires from his head and arm intertwining.

He entered the small room, and caught sight of the young man sobbing silently into his crossed arms.

"You bloody brute," he muttered, looking angrily up at him. "You didn't even let me say goodbye!"

Tyki rolled his eyes. "That's why I said it _for you_," he replied with a smile. "You were taking too long." He held out a large, furry hand. "Allen, was it?"

"No, it's Allen _Walker_," Allen snapped, huffing.

"You may call me Tyki Mikk," the Beast said anyway, retracting his hand. He flashed a toothy smile. "I'll show you to your room."

"My room?" Allen repeated, obviously shocked. "But, I thought—"

"If, if you want to stay in the tower," he grinned here. "Then _be my guest_."

"Ah, no thank you."

Tyki nodded. "Good. Follow me." He turned around and descended the spiraling stairs, grabbing Lavi on his way down. The almost quiet sound of shoed feet followed him, and he looked at the candelabra in his hand. His expression was very _Now what_?

"Oh, I don't know, say something to him?" Lavi whispered, shrugging.

"Hmm," he turned around, looking at the handsome boy. "I, I, well, I hope you like it here." He coughed lowly in his throat. "This mansion is your home now, and you can go anywhere you want. Except for the West Wing."

"Oh?" Allen perked up. "What's in the West Wing?"

"Nothing, because it's _forbidden_." Tyki narrowed his eyes.

The rest of the way was silent, and the Beast stopped in front of a random room. "This will be your room," he explained, opening the door slowly.

The white-haired teenager rolled his eyes. "I sort of guessed," he said sarcastically.

Okay. Letting the boy stay? It's feeling like a bad idea already. "If there's anything you need," Tyki continued, scrunching his muzzle in annoyance. "My servants will tend to you. That's the only thing they're good for _anyway_."

Lavi singed his fur to get his attention. "Ignoring that comment," he said with a smirk. "Invite him to dinner. Make him feel, well, _welcome_."

"Then I'd be a terrible liar," Tyki said in a bland tone. He looked over at Allen, who frowned at him. "You will join me for dinner." He huffed. "This is not a request."

He turned around, slamming the door behind him. But, for the sake of being him, he stilled for a moment to hear what the boy would say.

And the sobs spoke more words than he'd ever imagine.

**End Part One**

* * *

Okay, this is the part where I crack my neck because I've been writing this nonstop since one in the afternoon. It's 2 AM where I am, and I've got school in the morn'. :D

Tyki was chosen to be the Beast because his sexy hair makes for sexy fur and a sexy Beast. And Poker Pair is still my current OTP. (There will be Conair and Lovevan fics, though.)

It was _supposed_ to end at the part where Belle and the Beast realize their friendship, but I need to think about what I'm going to do about _Gaston_ and that whole moment in the tavern. Would Rhode be caught dead in a place like that? The hell if I know, and I can't call Emi because her super-cute puppy might answer and I can't handle talking to Crunch right now. Either way, it's okay with me because now the Beauty and the Beast portion has three parts instead of the original two. (Oh, and how did Phillipe know where to take Belle when Maurice got captured? The damn horse wasn't _there_.)

The prologue of this part is my favorite section. :D

This entire collection, just so the general world knows, was written **for the lulz**. We did it because the ideas made us laugh. Seriously, Kanda the fucking clock. Can you _not smile_ at that?

The _lulz_.


End file.
